


It's Better to Burn Than to Fade Away

by imaliveimpaige (TropicalUrie)



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Gen, Smoking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:11:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TropicalUrie/pseuds/imaliveimpaige
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The split hits Brendon especially hard, and he finds something that makes him feel like he's still close to Ryan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Better to Burn Than to Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

> hi i know this sucks but i got a prompt and yeah   
> and i know that Brendon an Ryan met when they were fourteen instead of 16 hush  
> also constructive criticism and comments make me happy

Brendon’s sixteen when he first meets Ryan. On one fateful, rainy, shitty morning, a zoned-out kid bumped into him, and he was about to turn and shout at him to watch where he was going. The words were on the tip of his tongue until the kid turned around, looked Brendon right in the eye, and whispered,

 

“Our skin just had sex.” Then he turned and walked away as if nothing had been said. For a moment, Brendon just stands there. He doesn’t run after the guy, doesn’t yell anything after him, because really, how the fuck does one respond to that? He just shakes his head a little and continues on his way, turning this way and that until he was safely inside his English 11 class. He sits and leans back in his chair, attempting to clock out until class started, but he’s unable to block the endless conversations about who slept with who and who did which drug with someone however many years older than them.

 

The conversation ceases almost immediately after the classroom door slams; Mr. Lowe’s way of telling them to shut the hell up. He started taking attendance in that nasally voice that made Brendon want to euthanize himself. He was right in the middle of saying Brendon’s name and Brendon was just about to respond when the door to the classroom opened once more.

“What a way to start your first class of the day,” Lowe scolds the kid that stepped into the room.

 

“Got lost,” is all the kid has to say for himself. Mr. Lowe takes his name for the attendance sheet and says nothing more about the guy’s tardiness since it was obvious that he was new. Brendon almost immediately recognizes the kid as the one who bumped into him earlier. He’s dressed simply, a white t-shirt, dark jeans, black Converse. His brown hair is a carefully mussed pile on top of his head. Brendon is pretty sure he’s wearing eyeliner.

 

Mr. Lowe tells Eyeliner to take a seat, and though there were maybe a dozen choices, he plops himself down right next to Brendon and smiles. Brendon gives a little grin in return, only for the purpose of being polite.

 

The class goes by in a boring, monotonous blur of nasal lecturing and questions about literary elements that they’ve been studying for a month now. Brendon said nothing to Eyeliner, and Eyeliner said nothing to Brendon. When the bell rings, Brendon is the first to sweep his books into his arms and bolt for the door, because, hey, it’s fucking Friday!

 

Spencer approaches him while he’s at his locker, putting his books away with a little grin, because frankly, this week has been hell and he can’t wait to go to Spencer’s and just hang out for a little bit as a reward for surviving another week.

 

“Hey, is it cool with you if another friend comes over tonight?” Spencer asks. Brendon nods as he glances nonchalantly at his backpack before throwing it back into his locker. No way he’s taking that thing home tonight.

 

“Anyone I know?” asks Brendon, closing the locker. Spencer shakes his head.

 

“No, no, at least I don’t think so.” No sooner did the words leave his mouth when Eyeliner shows up next to Spencer and uses his shoulder as an elbow rest. He grins in Brendon’s direction, then turns his attention back to Spencer.

 

“I have some stuff to do for my mom tonight,” he starts, “before I come over. Is it okay if I show up around .. say, six-ish?” Spencer nods and looks back at Brendon.

 

“Oh, yeah, uh, Brendon, this is Ryan,” he says, gesturing to the boy next to him. “Ryan, Brendon.”

 

“We’ve met,” Brendon tells Spencer, but he shakes Ryan’s hand anyway. “I mean, sort of.” Ryan gives Brendon’s hand a little squeeze and leans closer to him.

 

“Our skin is having sex again.”

 

* * * *

 

The three spend that night at Spencer’s house. Brendon has spent almost every Friday night at Spencer’s house for as long as he can remember, and for the last few weeks their favorite passtime has been playing rock band until Spencer’s mom comes in and asks if Brendon has a curfew he should be getting home to meet. Spencer asked Brendon and Ryan if they wanted to play, and Brendon made a mad dive for the plastic guitar like he always did. Ryan didn’t like that. They spent the next few minutes arguing until Spencer stepped in and flipped a coin, and Brendon begrudgingly agreed to take the microphone.

 

They ended up failing the song, because as soon as Brendon belted out the first few notes, Spencer dropped his drumstick and he and Ryan stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at him.

 

* * * *

 

They all end up on Spencers patio a little later, lounging on white plastic lounge chairs and just talking. Actually, Brendon wasn’t doing much of the talking. It was Ryan and Spencer trying to persuade Brendon to sing in this project they had in mind.

 

“A band?” Brendon scoffed. “Are you two those kinds of people that have talent but sit around and do nothing and expect the fame to just walk through the front door and slap you in the face?” Ryan and Spencer both shook their heads. Brendon knew that Spencer was a drummer, and a pretty good one, at that, but never knew that he wanted to take it this far.

 

Ryan pulled a pack of Camels from the pocket of his jeans and flipped open the top of the box.

 

“Coincidentally, we were waiting for a singer,” he says pointedly. Brendon watched as he held a cigarette between his teeth and produced a lighter from his other pocket. He lit it and took a drag before he noticed Brendon staring.

 

“What?” he asked. He held the package in Brendon’s direction. “Want one?” Brendon shook his head.

 

Lung cancer, he thought bitterly.

 

“So will you do it?” Spencer asked. Brendon started to shake his head again.

“Guys, I don’t-”

 

“Please?” It was Ryan that spoke this time. He stuck out his bottom lip and widened his eyes. “Pretty please?”

 

“The chances of making it in the music business are a billion to one.”

 

“That’s the spirit.”

 

Brendon sighed. He did really like to sing. And truth be told, he though a career in the music business would be great, he’d just had people laugh in his face one too many times. He thought about it again, then shrugged.

 

“Sure. I … I guess.” Spencer smiled and thanked him. Ryan threw down his cigarette and stomped on it as he ran over to Brendon. He pulled him up and engulfed him in a bone crushing hug.

 

Brendon pulled away when the smell of smoke almost made him gag.

 

* * * *

 

It’s after their meeting with Pete Fucking Wentz that they cheer. They’re mature enough to wait until they get to the car, but they cheer. Ryan, Brendon, Spencer, and Brent, who Spencer had recruited to play bass, all cheered and screamed and threw manliness to the wind and hugged the absolute hell out of each other.

 

“Holy shit holy shit we just got signed to a real motherfucking record label holy everloving shit Pete fucking Wentz just signed us to his fucking record label oh my god oh my god oh my god,” Ryan babbled almost incoherently.

 

For a moment, they all just sat there, speechless. Each of them had a huge, goofy grin on their faces, because, come on, they just fucking made it. Ryan breaks the silence by rolling down the window and lighting a cigarette. He hangs his head and arm out of the window, but the smell of smoke hits Brendon and this time, he actually does gag.

 

* * * *

 

Brendon’s getting a little fed up at this point. There are ashtrays everywhere. There’s one in the soundproof practice room, one in the living room- his and Ryan’s living room, one on Spencer’s patio, pretty much anywhere an ashtray could fit, Ryan had stuck one.

 

And the smell. The fucking smell. It’s killing him. It makes him gag and gives him headaches and even worse, it follows him everywhere now. His clothes and possessions reek of it after spending countless nights with Ryan and the rest of the band practicing.

 

Every time he looks at Ryan, the kid is either lighting a cigarette or slipping the package back into his pocket after catching Brendon looking at him.

 

One night, when Brendon is in an especially shitty mood and his headache is pounding against his skull especially hard, he finally loses it.

 

“Ryan, take that shit outside.” Ryan exhales a plume of smoke and looks at Brendon. “Dude, I’m serious. Outside. Now. It’s making me sick.” Ryan gives him an apologetic look.

“Oh! Dude, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Yeah, yeah, no problem.” He his jacket and exits through Spencer’s sliding door, and finishes his cigarette. Brendon watches him through the glass of the door, watches him put out the cigarette in the ashtray outside. He doesn’t come in until he’s done, and Brendon is relieved when the smell of smoke hovering around Ryan wasn’t as strong as usual. Not right in his face, at least.

 

* * * *

 

Brendon is pretty sure he knew it was coming. He’s actually pretty sure that everyone saw it coming. He started noticing little changes in Ryan. He became a lot quieter, he tried to change lyrics and music in songs that were ready to be taken to the studio, and sulked and pouted when the guys told him no. Then one day, he just dropped it. No sugar coating, no kind words.

 

“I’ve been thinking about this for a little while, guys. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Upon seeing the confused faces of his bandmates, Ryan continued. “This .. this doesn’t make me as happy as it used to. I just think … that I’ll be happier somewhere else. I still want to stay in the music business, and hopefully I can, but .. I don’t know. Panic just isn’t cutting it for me anymore.”

 

For a minute, there is nothing. No words, no are you fucking kidding me’s, no chairs rustling or anyone’s fingers running through their hair or coughing or anything. Absolute silence. Ryan takes the silence as his green light to grab his jacket and keys and bolt, leaving the other three to sit in awe. Brendon is the first to move, shoving his chair back in rage, so hard that it topples precariously for a second before falling behind him. He drags his fingers roughly through his hair. Neither Spencer or Brent stops him as he storms off towards the practice room and closes the door. He chooses that room since it’s soundproof, and he lets out a scream of rage. He couldn’t believe that Ryan was just going to quit and leave behind everything he, everything that they had worked so hard for over the past four years.

 

Brendon finally contains himself enough to sit down in one of the leather armchairs they’d agreed to put in the practice room. He hears something fall to the ground with a high-pitched ping. He looks down and sees that he had elbowed an ashtray off the arm of the couch. He glances at it, and something familiar comes creeping back to him.

 

The smell of cigarette smoke.

 

* * * *

 

They’d just finished a show in Seattle and Spencer and Brendon were headed toward the bus.

“You go on in,” Brendon told Spencer as they approached the bus. “I’m gonna hang out here for a second.” Spencer opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. He just nods and goes onto the bus. Brendon waits for the door to close before he pulls a pack of Camels from one pocket and a bright blue lighter from the other. He selected a cigarette from the pack and pressed it to his lips before lighting it.

 

It was a bad habit, and he was doing it for dumb reasons, he knew that much, but the whole thing had grown on him. Smoking made him feel, as dumb as it sounds, like he was still near Ryan. Not as though the whole split hadn’t happen, but … the smell reminded him of Ryan, and now he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He found the whole thing comforting in general.

 

He took another drag and exhaled, watching the silvery smoke disappear into the darkness, and stared at the stars until Spencer popped his head out to ask if he was okay. Brendon nodded in response and stuffed the lighter and cigarettes back into his pockets before entering the bus.

 

* * * *

 

It’s been years since the split, since any of it happened, and today, Brendon was going to visit Ryan. He was excited, but it felt … strange. Brendon didn’t even know if Ryan considered him his friend anymore. Nonetheless, he was on his way to see him, and there was a feeling of nervousness settling in the pit of his stomach.

 

He finally arrived at his destination, and saw Ryan immediately. He sat down in front of him and smiled weakly.

“H-hey,” he stuttered. “I just .. I wanted to check in on you. You know, we haven’t talked for such a long time, and I … I wish I wouldn’t have just cut you off like that. I wish I would’ve at least tried to keep in touch with you before it was too late. Oh, yeah, and these are for you.” With shaking fingers, Brendon reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh, unopened pack of Camels. He placed them in front of Ryan, then there was silence again.

“I uh,” Brendon started awkwardly. “Panic … Panic did great, Ry, really great …I kind of feel like I’m overstaying my welcome. I … I’m gonna go, okay? I’m gonna go, and … I missed you, Ryan. A lot.” Brendon reached out and gently grazed a wrinkled finger over the front of the gravestone in front of him. “I still do."


End file.
